


five twenty seven a.m.

by egare



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Absolutely no plot, Comedy, Fluff, Fox Hybrid Fundy, Gen, Piglin Hybrid Technoblade, Rated T for TommyInnit saying fuck, baby fundy, i wrote this for ME and ME ALONE, it's not a chatfic i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29542128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egare/pseuds/egare
Summary: WilburSoot: philWilburSoot: philWilburSoot: phil my son is a fox what do i doPhil blinked, letting the words sink in. It was too early for this.
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Technoblade, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, mentioned Wilbur Soot/Sally (past)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 373





	five twenty seven a.m.

<WilburSoot> phil  
<WilburSoot> phil  
<WilburSoot> phil my son is a fox what do i do

Phil blinked, letting the words sink in. It was too early for this. His phone rang in his hands, demanding to be answered, and Phil wondered if the extra half an hour of sleep he could get in the time it took for Wilbur to break down his door was worth the trouble.

When the call ended and began again he groaned, swiping to answer and holding it up to his ear. With forced cheeriness he spoke, exhausted tension barely hidden, “Hey, Wil, how’s it g _—_ ”

“Phil my son is a fox.”

“Yeah, I got that from your texts, mate.” He threw his legs over the side of his bed, going to speaker and sending a message of his own as he spoke, “Just… start from the beginning.”

“Well, he was _definitely human_ when I put him to bed, and I just came to check on him and now there’s a _fox_ in his _crib_ and I don’t know what to _do—_ ”

“Are you sure he didn’t just get eaten by a fox?”

There was a beat of silence. Wilbur’s voice pitched higher, panicked, “Y’know, I didn’t really consider that option until now, thank you for suggesting that!”

Phil winced, realizing his mistake. He balanced the phone between his chin and shoulder, slipping on his coat and stepping out, “Have you tried calling his name?”

“That’s _—_ a good idea, actually.” Wilbur’s voice went quieter as he pulled away from the speaker, “Fundy? Is that you, buddy?”

He picked up a sound that he could only compare to a snicker, definitely leaning animalistic but with traces of… at the very least, domestication. Altogether, entirely unnerving. “Jesus Christ, what was that?”

“I think it was a laugh, do foxes laugh?”

“How the hell would I know?” The two of them were definitely not panicking.

“Why would I know either, Phil!” Definitely not.

“Okay, let’s just breathe, yeah?” Phil was already on the path toward his nether portal. One small walk and he’d be there to help, “I’ll be there in ten, just… keep an eye on the fox.”

It didn’t take long for him to traverse the familiar path toward Wilbur’s small lakeside home, the moon hanging high above them as a reminder of just how much this would destroy his sleep schedule. There was already a figure out front sitting on the porch stairs, hair tousled and eyes half-closed; Tommy sat with his sword in hand, groggy, but keeping an eye out for both Phil and any wandering mobs that got too close to the home. He stood from the steps as he neared, accepting the arm that Phil tossed around his shoulders in a side-hug of a greeting and giving his own series of sounds that Tommy no doubt _assumed_ were words in return. Still not entirely awake, then.

“We had to lock him inside,” Tommy explained, heading inside; they left their swords in the umbrella stand beside the door, moving toward the nursery down the hall where Phil could hear the sound of something being dragged against the floor, a crash, and another curse from Wilbur. Tommy banged on the door thrice, continuing, “the fox figured out how doorknobs worked.”

More shuffling, and what Phil thought could possibly be a chair scratching against the ground before the door cracked open, revealing Wilbur and… what was possibly Fundy, held in his arms halfway between how one would hold an animal and one would hold a child. Phil was surprised to see how vulpine the toddler was, no traces of humanity in his appearance; but something like recognition flickered through the fox’s eyes, and it— he squirmed to try and get to Phil. Wilbur took advantage of that in its entirety, unceremoniously handing his son off to Phil’s very unopen, very unwilling arms.

“Wait, I don’t—” Phil held the fox out in front of him, silently asking for one of his sons to free him from his burden. Tommy pointedly did not make eye contact with him, standing still and apparently hoping that Phil would think he left his body for a minute; Wilbur seemed to already be asleep on the recliner in the corner of the room. He looked at Fundy critically, definitely not letting out a small _Aww_ as the fox— his… grandson, apparently— cocked his head to the side and gave an oddly human smile. “How long’s he been like this?”

“Wilbur put him to bed human,” He offered, not able to be more specific. Phil sighed, looking to the sleeping man and calling out,

“Wil. Wil, you gotta wake up for a minute.”

“I got this,” Tommy cleared his throat and invaded Wilbur’s personal space, enunciating his words directly into the other’s ear, “Hey, Wilbur. Thanks for giving me the keys to the Camarvan—”

He swore as Wilbur startled awake, their heads hitting each other when Tommy was unable to pull away quickly enough, and Phil sighed when the two devolved into a round of bickering. They quieted down when Fundy let out a stuttering sound, something that could be considered a vaguely threatening laugh, but moreso just an odd enough reminder of what they were meant to be doing. Phil set the fox down in his crib, and the three of them peered down at him, wondering if he might just go back to normal on his own.

A knock at the door interrupted their experiment, and Wilbur glanced at the other two, concerned, “Who—?”

“It’s open!” Phil was unconcerned, popping his head out of the nursery to call over the unexpected guest. He turned back to Wilbur, explaining, “I invited over a friend, figured he might have more of an idea about this than me.”

Any further questions were answered by Tommy, who had poked his head out and let out a joyful cackle at who he saw, heading toward the entrance, “Techno!”

Techno stood in the foyer, caught off-guard but more vigilant than one would expect, considering he had been woken up ten minutes ago. There was a weapon at his side, his hand resting on its hilt, but any attempt at intimidation was squandered by the pajama pants decorated in smiling polar bear faces. Tommy led him toward the nursery and he took in the room with a calculated gaze, clocking every individual, every possible item that could be turned into a weapon and every opening that could become an exit. Nothing stood out to him as odd and he turned to Phil, cautious, “You said there was a problem.”

“There is.” He gestured to the crib and Techno took a hesitant step forward, uncertain of what he was to see in there. The man blinked, silent as he maintained eye contact with the fox that stared back at him; he could have almost sworn there was something akin to curiosity in its eyes.

“Do you… want me to kill it?”

His offer received immediate outrage from Wilbur, the father bodily putting himself between Techno and his son, “Do _not_ kill Fundy!”

“Wait, _that’s_ Fundy?” He looked to Phil for confirmation and his friend provided all he could: a helpless shrug and a look of confusion that mirrored Techno’s own. “I thought he was human."

“We did too!”

“Should you be getting so close to him, big man? Don’t foxes, like, eat pigs or some shit?” Tommy asked, peering over Wilbur’s shoulder and looking down at his nephew; Techno rolled his eyes,

“You’re so right, Tommy,” he drawled, “This one-year-old is obviously such a threat to me. A highly skilled predator. A formidable opponent.”

But his sarcasm couldn’t hide the way he narrowed his eyes at the child, looking at him with a suspicion that hadn’t been there a moment ago. The child snickered once more.

“Figured you might be able to help, since you got two forms and all.” Phil explained, watching Techno lift the fox up and shooting Wilbur a look as he began to protest.

“Have you tried, I dunno, giving him something?” suggested Techno, uncertain of what else to offer, “Toss a potion on him?”

“Oh yes, let me just pull out a potion of humanity, Technoblade, something that _obviously_ exists—”

“Wil.” Another warning from Phil, and Wilbur took a deep breath, staying quiet as his father continued, “We’ll ju— Tommy, what are you doing.”

Tommy and Fundy both looked to him, caught in the act as the former held up a stuffed animal. Fundy returned his focus to the rabbit toy, pupils dilating, and Techno was caught off guard as he squirmed to get out of his grasp, nearly dropping the fox as he pounced. Letting out a sound that was definitely not a startled shout, Tommy fell back under the force of his nephew’s leap, the two of them ending up on the ground as Fundy hit the toy back and forth with his front paws, content in Tommy’s lap.

Silence fell over the four as they watched the fox for a moment, before they remembered the problem at hand. Techno turned to Wilbur, trying to comprehend even a small portion of the entire night, “Did his mom have two forms too?"

Wilbur pointedly did not make eye contact. Techno sighed, exasperated, “Wilbur."

“She wasn’t a shapeshifter.” He offered weakly. 

Tommy couldn’t tear his eyes away from Fundy, fascinated by what he was watching as Fundy bit at the neck of the toy, tearing away plush and stuffing, “Well, it’s gotta be in your line, yeah? What about like, his grandparents?”

“Phil?”

He shifted on his feet, hesitant, and looked to Wilbur. “No, like, his biological grandparents. One of them had to have been a shapeshifter.”

“...Tommy, I’m not the adopted one.”

Phil froze.

Tommy scoffed, obviously having been entirely aware of the fact that Wilbur wasn’t adopted, “I mean of course I knew that you weren’t ado— wait what do you mean ‘not the adopted one’? Am I—”

“I think that’s a conversation for another day,” Phil interrupted, picking up Fundy from Tommy’s lap. Wilbur didn’t let it go so easily, grinning,

“Tommy, did you not know you were adopted?”

“I—” He broke off, trying to understand what he was being told. Tommy blinked before clearing his throat, announcing to the group, “Fundy’s mom was a fish. Wilbur fucked a fish.”

“Tommy, I told you that in confidence—!”

“ _Heh?_ ” Techno questioned, looking between the fox and the father; he was visibly attempting to do the math in his head, ending up with an answer that involved variables not in the original equation.

“But you know what you didn’t tell me? That I was adopted!”

“Just because you didn’t know you were adopted doesn’t mean you can tell Techno that—”

“That Sally wasn’t someone you met at MCC but was in fact a _fish_ you found at the beach?”

Techno’s face went through the five stages of grief, mouth opening to question what he had just been told and promptly closing when he realized he was better off not knowing the details. He focused down on the kid in Phil’s arms, surprised to see Fundy peering back up at his curiously, content in his grandfather’s hold.

Phil and Techno made eye contact, and the latter sighed, knowing what he was being asked to do. He covered his face with his hands, pulling them up and revealing a much more humanoid structure in their wake save for a few attributes he wasn’t able to change, sclera still black, teeth and ears still too sharp; his hands ran over the top of his head and piglin fur shifted to much longer hair, an unnatural yet entirely organic pink.

Fundy took in the changes with far too much awareness for either a fox or a child, eyes darting over every inch of Techno’s new form; he scrunched his face up, and with a bit of focus the fox snout had shrunk back to a nose and mouth, and the digits of his paws began to lengthen, turning more humanoid and independent. Fundy giggled at the look of surprise on Techno’s face, still-vulpine ears turning back but not flattening against his head; Techno huffed, looking away toward Wilbur and Tommy as they continued to bicker throughout the entire transformation.

“Hey, guys…?”

“And just because I forgot to tell you that me adopting you as my brother meant Phil adopted you as his son—”

“So _you_ can fuckin’ forget to tell me I have a dad but when _I_ forget to tell you that I found a brother in a box—”

 _“Boys."_ Phil interrupted, his tone quieting the brothers down instantly. Wilbur looked over, physically brightening as he took in his son’s return to a vaguely-more-humanoid form, and he plucked Fundy from Phil’s arms, stress forgotten. The three watched as he doted over his son, gleefully pointing out playful tail movement and rambling away about _his_ _little sneaky fox boy, his little champion, his little baby boy_ in paternal adoration.

The sun was rising by the time they found themselves in the living room, Wilbur seated on the couch with Fundy’s head resting on his chest, Tommy beside them and leaning against Wilbur’s shoulder as the three of them stole a few extra hours of sleep. Phil took in the scene in front of him, pouring two mugs of coffee he stole from Wilbur after determining he worked hard enough for it; for a moment it was peaceful, and he turned to Techno, commenting casually,

“You know this means you’re the first one he’s gonna call next time, right?”

The man groaned, his head falling against the kitchen table, and Phil laughed, handing over the second cup.


End file.
